Died Blonde by Nancy J. Cohen Page B

Marla of the tables in a school cafeteria. Unlike their school counterparts which would have resounded with noisy chatter and laughter, these tables were surrounded by deathly silence except for the shuffle of bingo paraphernalia. It appeared bingo players took their occupation seriously.
    “Which pack do you want?” the attendant asked.
    “What are my choices?”
    “The twenty-two-dollar pack plays a four-hundred-dollar game; for thirty-three dollars, you can play the eight-hundred-dollar game; and for forty-four dollars you can play the eleven-hundred-and-ninety-nine-dollar game. Then you can buy extra books and specials.” Selecting a handful of brochures, she thrust them at Marla.
    “Uh, I’ll just take the first one.”
    “Paper or handset?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Do you want a paper pack or computer?”
    Marla glanced at some of the players already seated. They had cards laid out before them, and some had miniature tabletop computers. Her eye caught on colorful tubes that looked like paint. “What’s the difference?”
    “With the paper, you have to mark off each number. You can buy your own dauber in the machine over there.”
    “I see.” She noticed a lady testing her dauber by blotting colored circles on a blank piece of paper. This was a far cry from grade-school bingo where you put tokens on a gaming card. “Does the computer automatically mark the numbers called?”
    “You still have to key in the number, but you don’t have to locate it on the grid. The computer will do that for you. It’s a lot faster if this is your first time. The game gets intense. Some people use both methods because they get bored.”
    Marla studied the brochure for the evening session. Eighteen games were interspersed with brief intermissions. “What’s this Ko Na Wi where the prize starts at twenty-five thousand?”
    “That costs one dollar to enter, and you pick six numbers ahead of time. It’s like the Lotto. If your numbers are called, you win. We only call sixteen numbers total.”
    Marla bit: her lower lip. “I’ll just stick to the regular bingo game.” Aware she was holding up the line, she paid quickly and grabbed her power box. Now to figure out how to work the thing. Fortunately, a couple of seats were vacant on either side of Carolyn’s bingo partner.
    If she ever entered a contest for bag ladies, Rosemary Taylor would win the prize, Marla thought. She couldn’t decide which sagged more: the lines of dissipation on the older woman’s face, or the shift she wore that looked like a recycled drapery from the flowery sixties. Dry blond hair with brassy highlights stuck out in clumps from under a battered felt hat. Her limpid blue eyes, lashes heavy with mascara, gave Marla a quick glance.
    “Hi, are these seats taken?” Marla began. She introduced herself and Tally after Rosemary indicated the spaces were available. “This is our first time here. I hope I can understand how this thing works.” After settling in, she pushed the power button on her unit, watching as the screen lit up. Rosemary had sheets of paper laid out in front of her plus a computer and a row of daubers in different colors.
    “The warmups will get you oriented,” Rosemary said in a raspy voice that ended in a cough.
    Observing the stubs littering the woman’s ashtray, Marla wasn’t surprised when Rosemary lit a cigarette as long and slim as a pencil. Her throat constricted, and the lack of windows contributed to her oppressed feeling. It must be raining, but she couldn’t even hear the thunder. Very few people conversed with each other, and those few got disapproving glances. It felt as though she’d entered a prison where you weren’t allowed to speak, and breathing the smoky air was part of your sentence.
    “My friend used to come here often,” Marla said, focusing on her purpose. “She kept urging me to play, but I couldn’t find the time. I’m so sorry she isn’t here tonight. Maybe you knew her? Carolyn